Second Encore
by shola
Summary: No point being cutesy, no point being coy. If you're gonna land on your feet, better get the cream along the way. FXS 4th chapter up
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: It's the usual drill, Vicious is dead, Spike isn't. Yeah…that's about it_

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Cowboy Bebop or any of its subsidiaries, subordinates or indeed classy whores. Goddamn it…

* * *

The fabric just wouldn't stop sticking to her fingers.

Faye Valentine tried stiffly to extricate herself from a burgundy 'satin' wrap that was wound through her thin elbows. The more she struggled with it, the more she was absolutely certain that street dealer had been lying through his teeth.

_Just ignore it, stay in character_

She narrowed her jade eyes and looked around slowly. Taking a drag on the sixty-eighth cigarette in the room, she soaked up the surroundings, automatically checking the barstools for 'unsightly' bulges and burning all possible exits clear into her memory.

Scanning the room again, this time with a thin trail of smoke hanging over her head, she saw the hit. Big teeth, patchy tan and a shirt that vaguely resembled her wrap. Just older. And shinier.

Stifling a grimace, Faye hitched up her skirt a little and sashayed over to within two feet of him and ordered another whiskey sour.

"Let me get that," drawled a lazy voice at Faye's left ear.

Bingo.

Turning slowly, her eyes cast 'demurely' downwards, Faye took a proper look at the hit from the feet up.

"Johannes Masterson."

_Ugh, his ankles are even dripping in sweat._

"It's amazing to see a _lady_," Faye suppressed a shudder, "of your calibre around here."

"Hmm."

Faye surveyed his face from beneath her eyelashes, wondering how someone with makeup that patchy could possibly be worth 8 million Woolongs.  
Fraud, Jet had told her. Something to do with the ISSP, security issues, she hadn't really been listening. More important things to worry about.  
But that was beside the point, and Faye fought to keep her face purely coy.

"Strange, I thought the jazz clubs on Tharsus were the place to be," she purred.

"Not when you dig this deep underground sweet thing."

Faye wasn't sure how much longer she could smother her reactions. Somehow she was able to stop her gag reflex and continue to regard the man through her eyelashes.

"Oh well, more for me then…"

The eagerly sweating bounty-head was swallowing her baby steps into his lap a little easier than she could stomach, but Faye's experience with this kind of hit won over, and instead of vomiting into her now empty tumbler, she merely bit her lip and went in for the kill.

Within five minutes Faye and the (now drenched) Mr. Masterson were in an alley behind the club. Faye had learned long ago how to maneuver situations such as these so as her back ended up nowhere near a wall.

Making as if to kneel down (and judging by the preparatory intake of breath she was greeted with, it was undoubtedly the right course of action) Faye Fluidly produced her gun and pointed it squarely at Masterson's crotch.

It took a few seconds to register.  
"Wh-What do you think you're doin you crazy broad! Christ I-I take you out her for a little fun an-an y-y-you just, you just-" he broke off, panting incoherently.

Faye allowed herself a tiny smile.  
"Now don't be silly Mr. Masterson. I'm surprised you didn't tell me about that 8 million bounty on your greasy head inside. I must have given in a little quickly huh?"

If it was possible for his face to drain of any more colour, in that instant it did.  
"Oh man, oh man..." he repeated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his beer gut wobbling accordingly.  
"H-hey, you there! Buddy, y-you gotta help me, this girl, she's crazy man, you gotta help me man, c'mon!"

"Not my problem anymore. Sorry."

The reply had come from over Faye's left shoulder.  
She blanched and whipped around, but the alley was empty, one faintly glowing cigarette butt on the ground behind her.

That split second was all he'd needed.  
Something hard connected with the back of Faye's head and threw her to the ground.

Struggling to see through the violet hair blocking her vision, she managed to see the saem sweat drenched ankles rounding the alley corner and disappearing from sight.

"Shit."

Scrambling to her feet Faye half ran, half fell to the corner and fired.  
No aim, no target, just fired.

And promptly lost consciousness.

_

* * *

_

_Faye was twirling, wrapped in a single white sheet. Looking down she realised her feet were in mid air and the floor was nowhere in sight. All around her was the same misty, out of focus void that her that her feet were dangling in, the kind of atmosphere that flecks of dust are suspended in for weeks.  
Over her head she saw what looked like the surface of a pool of water. It was rippling and Faye was sure she could see a light behind it. It hurt her eyes to look at, but she flinched trying to turn away. She was sure she could see something behind it. Propelling herself through the dense atmosphere she stretched upwards towards this phantom presence. The closer she got to the rippling surface, the image above began to come into focus. It was a man. She was sure of it.  
She was just about to break the surface. There was a twinge of recognition in the back of her mind. She had to see who it was. She reached above as far as she could._

"Spike."

Faye heard her voice as if it was a long way off, and somehow her eyes snapped open automatically.

"What did you say?" countered a gruff voice somewhere near her feet.

Gradually Faye came to. The dilapidated table before her came into focus and she registered that the yellow mass underneath her was the same familiar couch. She was back on the Bebop.  
"Did he get away?" Faye's voice had a definite croak to it that she didn't remember hearing previously. She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shooting from the crown of her head down her spine cut the endeavor short.

"Hey, hey, easy now. You took quite a turn out there. Just lie back. No, you got him all right. I got that signal you sent and made it down there quick enough. You were passed out and he was in a heap not too far away. You managed to get him in the shoulder and the calf. It was enough to keep him put but the cops were sure happy to take him off our hands."

_That's funny_.  
Faye was sure she'd only fired one shot, and she certainly didn't remember sending out any kind of distress signal.  
_Concussion'll do that to you I guess…_

Faye's eyes widened in shock. Those words. They were spoken in his voice. She could almost believe he'd been speaking in her ear. She couldn't hold it in.

"Jet, Spike was there."

The only movement from the aging man in front of her was the ash falling from his cigarette, which oddly seemed infused with the same sort of wide eyed disbelief that had registered in Jet's face.

"Don't joke about that Faye." Jet's voice had become cold and hard.

"Do you think I would?" Faye's edged on feminine desperation. She'd learned by now how to stem the flow of tears this subject woke in her, but she could never keep her voice steady.

She still hadn't forgotten the day Spike had gone out to die. How she'd acted. How she'd dropped her guard so completely, knowing well Jet could hear them. Faye couldn't stand to lose control. But then she couldn't stand to lose family either.  
The bullet holes still hadn't been filled.

Jet's head sunk slightly towards his chest, and he smiled that odd sardonic smile that strangle suited him, while clashing with all his features.  
"It must have been the knock you took Faye, he hit you pretty hard."

Jet's voice was conversational, injected with a measured amount of laughter. Faye had been around long enough to know when those southern inflections were forced.

"It was him. We know he's still alive out there."

"No we don't."

Jet got up and stood with his back to her.  
Faye sighed and looked up towards the ceiling. It had been a good six months. Six months since they'd broached the subject.  
Six months since they'd stopped looking.

"We don't know he's alive or dead. Even if he is still alive, he won't be found until he wants to be. If that happens at all."

Jet spoke as someone that had known Spike much longer and much better than Faye could ever have hoped to. That stung her to her petulant, childlike core. She had every intention of storming off the ship in a childish rage like so many times before, but yet again she hit an invisible brick wall halfway off the couch.

"For God's sake Faye, lie down. There's no point going through all this again. I collected the bounty and bought some food, you want some? You must be hungry."

It suddenly occurred to Faye that she hadn't eaten since 3 hours before entering that club. It was now noon the next day.

"Is there any point asking what you've got ?" Faye asked resignedly, wearily totting up the amounts she'd owed to various casinos threatening to take the Bebop as payment.

"You know the answer to that."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Yeah a month later, I'm really sorry. And I wouldn't mind if it was super long or really well planned, but it's not. I just had tons of work to do, and a lot of stuff's been happening at home, so I just haven't been able to do much. I know, I know, the excuses, they are feeble._

_Oh and I'm sorry about all the spelling errors and stuff. I dunno if it's my computer or what, but I ran good old spell check and read through the whole thing last night before I posted it (I swear!) Hahaha. Ah well, I'm fairly sure I've corrected them all now. Because there's nothing more annoying than spelling mistakes. Yuck. _

_Hopefully now though I can get really focused and make the next chapter a good 'un._

_Hopefully. Well, I hope you enjoy this much anyway, and thanks to everyone that reviewed the first wee bit. 'Tis much appreciated._

* * *

"Faye do you really think this is a good idea? Your head still hasn't healed"

Exhaling a long plume of smoke, Faye surveyed Jet over the top of her sunglasses.

_Why does he bother with this? He knows I'm gonna go._

"Now Jet, you know I've got people waiting out there that need my attention. I can't neglect them. You forget, I've been putting certain people's kids through college for quite some time now."

Jet's eyes narrowed in anger.  
"That's exactly why you can't go! Don't you think you've been helping these dealers and swindlers for too long? Look at my goddamn ship Faye! Damage caused by your recklessness.  
The engines have been offline for the past three weeks after that run in with that drug dealer from Venus. And the navicomputer's still in pieces after that virus you picked up 'searching for leads'."

Jet knew as well as Faye did that she'd been checking the odds on some big race the previous month.

"That money should go towards paying for the stuff you wrecked."

Faye rolled her eyes. Luckily her glasses were dark enough that Jet couldn't see her do it. Taking another drag she managed to mutter, "This measly pay won't cover that damage,"  
_Much less pay for that new dress I need._

Faye had the unfortunate habit of misusing the word 'need'. It was very closely linked to her misunderstanding of the concept of 'being a victim.' She was still convinced she was one. She knew that she had to be a victim of _something_, but details like that don't need explanation in the fuzzy logic discussion. She was a victim of modern society. And archaic society. All those people trying to obey the rules and do their jobs? Merely pawns in the great master plan to wear down Faye Valentine.

And Jet trying to talk a little sense into her was merely the world trying to crush her yet again.

"I need at least 3 times this crappy amount to pay for what needs to be done, Jet, so I'm gonna get up and make it the only way I know how."

With that Faye marched off the ship, her nose so high in the air she nearly tripped over an empty noodle cup on the ground.

Jet let out a sigh of exhaustion. "You've never made money that way and you know it."

He continued to stand there long after the echoes of her sharp footsteps had faded away. The niggling hope that maybe, just maybe she could develop some of that comradery that had been alive on the Bebop not too long ago was the only thing keeping him from shutting up the ship and getting as far away as its present state would allow.

When they'd been looking for Spike it had been like they'd been working with the same consciousness. For the first time in their professional relationship, Jet Black and Faye Valentine had been of one mind. Since they'd stopped, well, since _Jet_ stopped and Faye's lack of means cut her search short, it had all fallen apart. Jet slept at night just for a break from the arguments. But then came the inevitable silence.  
That was when the guilt set in. When questions took hold and ravaged his mind until he could do nothing but sleep.  
And he had too much to do right now to tire himself out with more questions.

Shaking his head he began to walk towards the hangar. The major hull damage was along there, which was one of the reasons Jet had been so steamed about the whole thing.

_It's one thing to damage the ship. It's entirely another to wreck both the Bebop _**and**_ rest of the ships on board. _

Yeah, that was better. Best to cloud the mind with mild annoyances. It blocked out the heavier stuff. It had often occurred to him that this particular way of dealing with the situation was one of the main reasons why he kept Faye around.  
No one could annoy Jet more than that attitude with a woman hanging off it.

Jet's footsteps slowed to a stop. He narrowed his eyes at a twig that had broken under his foot, and added another niggling guilt to the list.

Opening a door to his left he saw his bonsai, each one shedding and wilting from lack of attention. His newest attention promptly registered across his already careworn face.

"Sorry guys," he murmured, bending to snatch up a handful of day old dead leaves, "I knew I'd let it slip somewhere."

Nearly buckling under the weight of sixteen shriveling bonsai on his conscience, Jet finished his journey to the hangar, and began the monumental task of the Bebop's one hundred and thirty second patch up, alone.

* * *

Faye's burst of self importance didn't end when she got to the racetrack. Denial is an amazingly strong tool. And this wasn't the first time Faye used it to haul herself out of a potential pit of despair. 

_All he does is hold me back. Treating me like a criminal in my own home. Wait, no that's wrong, it's not my home, I could leave anytime I like. I left just now didn't I? Who's to say I don't go back. I don't need him. He never could understand the workings of a woman's mind anyway. How could he supply my needs?_

Slowing to a faltering stop Faye noticed a number of people were staring at her.  
A haggard old woman patted her arm in passing.

"Don't worry deary, a girl like you sure doesn't need any man to stick around."

Faye watched the woman waddle away in a daze for a moment before squeezing her eyes shut in mortification.

_Crap, I must have been talking to herself._

Promising herself she'd lay off the interior monologues Faye stomped into the bookies.

This was Faye's favourite out of all the bookies' she'd visited during her 'travels'.  
This was one of the few in the solar system that was totally automated. No greasy teller. No crappy little pens, no grubby paper. Just a touch screen and you.

Should you wish to examine the cheap ass holodeck in the corner, showing freeze-frames of all the runners and spouting illusory odds every 3 minutes or so, you can go right ahead. But Faye had learned the hard way that you touch that thing and you may as well tape a sign to your forehead with 'Rube' written across it. No, no. The holodeck was reserved for kids and tourists.

However, it had become habit to check if anyone was standing at it. If you lost the entire contents of your wallet by some cruel twist of fate, they tended to be a good source of small change. Or large amounts of cash. But Faye wasn't greedy. Well, not when it came to pick-pocketing. She still had some tiny shred of dignity left.

Leaving the building with several slips of grey flimsy to which her happiness was now inextricably linked, Faye allowed herself one last indulgent look at her oasis of calm.

_A hot fire for your pay check. _Jet's new phrase of choice with regard to the place was still surprisingly fresh in Faye's memory. Squeezing her eyes shut, she marveled at how shaken she'd been by the fight.

_This is pointless,_ she thought, _this is only going to hurt my luck, and I'm not gonna give Jet the satisfaction of making me lose._

Shaking the thought of him out of her head (and dashing tears from her eyes, though she chose to ignore that particular detail) Faye eyed the slip for a hefty bet on a spunky looking contender in the second race with renewed confidence.

After making sure she'd regained all elements of her swagger, Faye made her way to her second port of call.

The bar.

Ordering a watered down wine derivative native to Mars (it was still early) Faye slipped into reflection. It had become easier and easier over the years to block out the salivating males on either side of her. They always seemed to be weighing up the probability of something or other. It was only until a couple of months previously when one such gentleman had tried to staple her shirt to the table she was sitting at had she figured out what they'd been hoping for.

Lazily playing with the rim of her glass, her chin propped up with her free hand, Faye's train of thought returned yet again to the events of that morning.

She'd been back at the ship a week and feeling a hell of a lot better. Well, that stuff Jet had been giving her may have had something to do with it. Quinzaprole or something. Apparently it was strong stuff; Jet hadn't gone into the particulars of how he'd managed to come by it in the first place. But hey, she could deal with wobbly vision provided the blinding pain in her head was gone.

Frowning, she exhaled sharply. Guilt wasn't something Faye was used to, and damn did she feel guilty now. She felt bad for Jet, though wasn't entirely sure why. He seemed so listless lately, and his attempts at appearing focused were simply pathetic. With a slight shake of her head Faye wondered just what it would mean if Jet found out about this one particular unselfish thought. Trying to equate it to money, and how little of it they were coming across in their present lackluster state Faye's mind wandered back to the unconscious look of pain that seemed stitched across Jet's brow. For a split second Faye wondered if she was contributing to it, before she recoiled in self remembering disgust.

_Why is this bothering me so much? I mean Jet feeds me and keeps a roof over my head, but it's not like we don't have an understanding. He's never had a problem with how I live before. And I'm not that reckless anyway. My luck's gonna pick up soon. And it's just money that I play around with anyway. I don't run off to get shot._

The hand under Faye's chin smacked the table before she fully registered she'd let it slip. She narrowly escaped having her face follow it.

_Fuck_

That revolting lump was back in her throat and she was sure she could feel tears pricking behind her eyelids. Suddenly Faye felt the overpowering urge to pull her shirt down to get those toothless idiots to stop hoping she'd fall out of it.

But the risk that she'd start crying while doing so stopped her. She just stayed perfectly still, staring at the glass topped table, trembling slightly and wondering why the hell Spike's face was staring back at her.

Desperately trying to claw back any remnant of her previous composure, Faye began to tremble more and more violently.

_Goddamn it, this is stupid. He isn't anything. Somebody I used to work with. **Used to**.  
An old acquaintance. Part of an extensive past._

Concentrating on the relative futility of all other elements of her past, Faye felt the calming leaden presence of quiet depression.

Lighting one of two cigarettes at her elbow, Faye took a long drag on it and slowly articulated a recurring thought she'd been too arrogant to face the past six months.

_It's just as well. Nobody here appreciated him anyway._

Faye's eyes lost focus, directed slightly above the projection of the race playing out on the wall to her right. Recollections of what a damn fine bounty hunter Spike was were flitting across her memory. The various chases, beat ups and shoot outs. All of them involving huge personal risk, and each one undertaken with that nonchalance what was just that tiny bit alluring, though Faye would never admit anything of the kind, to either herself or anyone else.

But the thought was there. Just as it had been for months previous.

Suddenly she was roused by shouts behind her, urging on a familiar sounding name through what sounded like the final leg of the race.

Returning her focus to the projection (or at least what was visible over the heads of several short, sweaty men clamouring in front of it) Faye caught the very last seconds of the race; Number 2 crossing the finish line an inch or two in front of its nearest contender.

And if it hadn't been for the mammoth explosion behind her, Faye might have had herself a winner.


	3. Chapter 3

_Wow, it's been even longer this time. And the next one isn't gonna be anytime soon either…I've got exams at the minute, Yuck._

_But I promise, as soon as they're over, I'll have loads for you guys._

_Hope this much is okay anyway. Any feedback is welcome!_

_

* * *

_

There was debris everywhere. Random hunks of metal and burning plaster littered the area that had just moments ago been full of hopeful gamblers.

But that didn't matter. There was a job to do, and the heat was up too high to sit reminiscing about the good ol' times spent at the racetrack.

But first _she_ had to be gone. If Faye saw this it would just turn messy.

He wasn't sure why, but then there didn't need to be a reason for everything. In fact, it was often better when there wasn't. Made things a lot simpler.

Luckily, Faye had been pretty much carried off the scene draped over the shoulder of some huge trucker that had been ogling her for the half hour previous to the blast.

His hopes of gratitude sex may not be as easily realised as the poor guy had previously thought. Oh well, what's another failure right?

Enjoying the reassuring weight of the Jericho held up by his shoulder, Spike Spiegel stepped out of the shadows, and darted across the courtyard to what remained of the spectators' stands. Glancing in the glass panel adorning the lowest line of stands, Spike did a double take. Covering his face with his free hand, he swung around.

There had been no need to turn around so quickly, it would take the purple huffing biomass waddling in his direction a good 5 minutes to get there. Spike surveyed his palpitating counterpart with an odd mixture of disdain and slow boiling fury.

"I told you not to come Howards," he growled though gritted teeth.

The elder man, puce and breathing alarmingly heavily, took out an immaculate handkerchief and mopped his brow all the while holding up his free hand, as if it alone could stem the flow of Spike's rage.

Upon composing himself, Howards lifted his third chin parallel to the ground below him and haughtily looking down on a man 6 inches taller said

"The director wished me to accompany you."

Spike reset his face into its usual irreverent veneer. "Sam said that huh?"

Howards' horror was palpable. "How dare you," he spluttered, mopping his forehead again, "Such disrespect to the Director, to be so familiar, such insolence, ill regard-"

"Hey now Pops, calm down, I can't afford to be the one who gives you that stroke," which was entirely true, Spike had placed a rather large wager on it's being the well endowed receptionist Veronica.

"If you haven't noticed, you're slowing me down. I've already lost ten minutes and if you don't get the hell out of here, this job isn't going to get done at all."

Remembering himself, Howards drew himself up to his inconsiderable height and looked Spike haughtily in the eye.

"You appear to have forgotten how our company deals with these sorts of threats Mr. Speigel. The Collective is a gentlemanly organisation, and you have already today sullied its reputation no end with your _clumsy_ manner of doing business."

Spike looked up momentarily from the cigarette he was lighting.

"What?" he asked in mock wide-eyed surprise, "You mean this?" He gestured with his tobacco laden hand to the rubble that surrounded them, slipping his lighter into his pocket.

Howards' eye twitched slightly. "Yes, that is _precisely_ what I mean."

Blowing smoke directly in the little man's face Spike shrugged, turning the corners of his mouth down. "Well then maybe you should take it up with Sam, he gave me the explosives."

Not waiting to see how long it would take Howards to recover from the apopleptic state this comment left him in, Spike walked through the door behind him and resumed his mission.

Well, if you want to call a freelance bounty hit a mission.

Holding the handgun down at his hip Spike scaled the stairs silently, left shoulder first. In the eerie calm that was left following the blast, the sounds of a scuffle at the top of the stairwell was clearly audible.

Spike's features relaxed a little. It never mattered how long he was out of the game, the players never changed.

Coming to a stop outside a heavy wooden door labelled 'Private' Spike leaned his head back onto the doorjamb, looking in at the scene with one eye.

There were three men scrambling around frantically in the office within. Two were tall lean pale men, with angular haircuts, black suits and over large sunglasses, the third a shorter, younger man with blond hair falling into his eyes. As a result he seemed to need to toss his head every 5 seconds or so in order to see where he was going. Judging by the stains adorning the legs of his greying white suit, he wasn't doing too well.

The three of them were grabbing random papers out of various open drawers around the room and stuffing them into a shredder in the middle of the floor.

"Don't forget the _Freewheel_ papers," chided a voice from a different room.

Spike's eyes lit up with the promise of two birds for his one stone.

A fourth man strolled into the office through a separate doorway behind the large desk at the far end of the room. He was as tall as the dark suited guys, but was broader and commanded more of a presence. His white blond hair hung to his waist and was tied with a thin black ribbon at the nape of his neck. Drying his hands on a paper towel he continued speaking to the men without looking at them.

"If those papers are found there's no point even trying to set up elsewhere, if-"

He stopped short as his eyes came to rest on Spike's exposed eye.

Spike grinned behind the door and held the man's gaze for a split second before he threw the door open.

Enjoying the nanosecond of complete stillness before the men around him sprang into action Spike took aim and fired two quick shots. One connected with the thigh of a black suiter delving into a drawer in the corner of the room.

_One down._

Ducking and rolling over one shoulder Spike had a second tiny break with his back against the desk before Bleacher Mr. Blond threw himself headfirst over the desk after him.

It's easy to hit targets when you know where they're gonna be.

Deciding that this was getting a little easy, Spike holstered his faithful Jericho in case of a real emergency (the strip on the back of his pack of matches _was_ running a little ragged) and jumped to his feet.

As he'd expected the one remaining black suit was hurtling towards him. Spike easily grabbed the man's wrist halfway through side-stepping him, swung him round and mid spin slammed black suit's forearm into Spike's waiting palm.

There were few sounds as rewarding as that snap. That was the sound of payroll on it's way.

But unfortunately, this particular guy had no real resale value, so Spike used the fact that 'black suit' was standing on a stray leaf of paper. One good push and he was safely through the window.

Mr. Leader Man looked up from examining his nails. His unruffled air remained intact, and perhaps coincidentally, he didn't have a hair out of place.

"So now you think you're just going to kill me?"

Spike let out a snort of laughter. Mr. Leader looked visibly upset at such a crass form of expression being used in his presence.

"Why would I do that? You're worth good money to me Diego."

Diego pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. Spike was beginning to seriously question the man's sexual orientation, but stopped as soon as he remembered he didn't care.

"You can't expect to take me alive."

Spike shrugged, and pointed his gun directly at the other man's chest.

"More or less."

Diego narrowed his eyes.

"You wouldn't dare."

That was all the incentive Spike needed.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Okay here's a new one! Managed to get it up in the midst of all the exams and stuff. Emjoy!_

"Let-me-DOWN"

Faye hadn't stopped screaming since she'd been carried off the racetrack. About 30 feet ago she'd dropped her ticket (that still would've been redeemable what with the race's photo finish). That was when she'd gotten _really_ pissed.

Pointing her toe she added the extra length she needed to her leg and swiftly connected with the man's groin. Hard.

With a low moan he loosened his grip aroundher waist and Faye quietly counted to five. As he dropped to his knees blinded by pain (those boots were pretty damn solid), Faye gracefully met the ground feet first and straightened up.

With a sweet smile and a swift kick she told her hijacker (she never used the phrase 'kidnapper' or worse yet 'abductor'. It implied some semblance of weakness) that if he ever so much as looked in her direction again she'd permanently remove 'them'.

Treating his dull thud upon hitting the ground sideways as some form of agreement, Faye swivelled around on her hip and walked back towards the track.

It was possible that the blast had looked like more than it was andit was still open. Or failing that, the shock evacuation may have resulted in several wallets, perhaps even some nice jewellery being left behind. And it was Faye's duty to give all those poor lost valuables a good home.

Smiling to herself, she remembered that one time on Ganymede at the dog track. A phoney bomb-scare had left a very pretty, _very_ expensive necklace under Faye's feet as she moved away from the throng to light a cigarette. That was back before stupid circumstances had started cramping her luck.

"This whole set-up, it's just not what a complex woman like me needs" she sighed, stretching her hands behind her head.

"Well maybe there's something we can do about that."

A large hand behind her grabbed her wrists and twisted them roughly down behind her back.

With a yelp Faye swung to the ground. Looking up she was faced with a pair of knees. Huge, male, leather coated knees. As he reached down to take the gun she was carrying out of its holster she managed to get a look at his face. He was surprisingly young. Tanned, large brown eyes and longish black hair.

_Why the hell's a guy like this date-raping at a blown up racetrack? _

In Faye's extensive experience this kind of thing was much more likely to happen with someone more similar to her original attacker. And, she sullenly admitted to herself, much easier to handle. This guy was in shape. And there was a strange glint in his eye that she just didn't like.

Straightening up her attacker looked down on her, still not letting go of her wrists. If anything, he was squeezing them tighter.

"You're a feisty one aintcha?" he asked of her, with a twisted half smile on his face.

Not wishing to speak to him between then and the time that she'd be kicking his ass, Faye did the only thing she knew to be a suitable substitute for conversation.

She spat on his shoes. And they looked brand new too. Pity.

His eyes widened in rage.

"You bitch! You should be glad of this, I was gonna do things to you you'd never even heard of!"

Half enjoying his enraged state Faye smiled sweetly up at him

"It's not like I have to get jumped on a day off to get myself a date junior. Maybe you should lay off the gangster movies and try a self help book or something. You'd be surprised how easy it is to make a_ lasting _impression on a woman."

Seething he narrowed his dark eyes at her.

"You'll never forget me bitch. Not when I'm through with you."

Faye had opened her mouth to give a suitably derisive reply but the blow he dealt to the back of her head knocked her out cold.

Dropping her to the ground he turned her over onto her back with the toe of his shoe. Eyeing her up and down, he commended himself on a damn good day's work. And to think that idiotic tub of lard nearly got away with her.

He threw a look over his shoulder. The trucker was still slumped on the pavement clutching his groin.

_Ah well, one man's ball breaker is another man's sweet piece of ass. _

His musing was cut short by the appearance of a tiny aubergine coloured man, running towards the destroyed racetrack. As he came closer there appeared to be something familiar about him.

_Oh shit._

"Howards."

The tiny man had stopped beside him, panting heavily.

"Fischer? What-are-you-doing-here?"

Howards glanced at the woman at his feet. Fischer did likewise and gave a start.

"Oh I was in just walking past and I saw this young woman hurt here. She appears to be out cold. Must've gotten knocked over in all the commotion. I've been waiting on an ambulance." Howards' face didn't lose any of the suspicion it had initially held.

Fischer would like to have thought that they hadn't known each other long or well enough for this to be an issue. Still though, it was probably wise to change the subject.

"Looks like the operation went according to plan."

Bingo.

Something akin to realisation dawned on Howards' tiny face and he mumbled something about work done incorrectly before scurrying away.

As soon as he had disappeared amongst the rubble surrounding the track, Fischer decided that one encounter was too many to risk. He slung Faye around his shoulders and made his way quickly off the scene.

* * *

A plainly audible giggle came from the furthest corner of the room. Which was quite a feat really, considering that the very same room was full of important looking business people talking at the top of their voices about various mergers that they were 'just closing the deal' on.

Spike looked up from the coin he had been tossing in the air. An old trick yes, but hey, when you know you look good you may as well capitalise on it. Looking in the direction that the obviously contrived bid for his attention had come from, his mismatched eyes met two large catlike green mates from across the room.

Locking eyes with her always stirred up some sort of longing somewhere in the pit of Spike's stomach. She wasn't of enough consequence to summon up that feeling by herself. She brought back a hint of someone else. But soon the prospect of the gaping holes stretched inher not-too far away blouse erased any thought other than what could possibly be housed in there.

But of course Spike was never one to openly salivate. There was no shortage of women on Mars, and Spike knew he would never be lost for company.

Safe in that knowledge, he merely winked at the girl sitting behind the desk in the across the room and returned to his pursuit.

Damn that coin was shiny.

"Um, Mr. Spiegel?" squeaked a minuscule voice from what was fast becoming known as 'the busty corner'. It was a stupid name, of course, but in an office full of horny men witty reparte was not exactly the norm.

Spike leaned back and raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

_Wow, just 30 seconds? She made it a whole 2 minutes last week._

The girl across the room blushed as he made eye contact with her again. She seemed to have forgotten that she'd called his attention and that it was now her turn to speak.

Spike walked slowly over to where she was sitting and waited until a sufficiently patronising time had elapsed before drawing her attention to her silence.

"Yes Veronica, what's the problem?" he said in a low voice as if communicating highly classified information to her.

She surveyed him from underneath her considerably enhanced eyelashes. Her coyness made Spike's stomach turn. It was this brand of theatrics that turned him off certain women. Goddamn attitudes.

"Mr. Lampard says you should go in as soon as Mr. Howards is finished."

Spike made sure he didn't let any flicker of emotion near his face. It was so difficult not to laugh in the poor girl's face.

"Thanks Veronica, I'm sure he won't take too long."

_He's in there for 20 minutes after I arrive any time I come by here. Measuring the back of Sam's chair or something. Not my fault if he's got a point to prove, but I really don't care how tiny the guy's dick is._

Half smiling to himself, Spike decided to turn his lop-sided grin on the voluptuous receptionist. It was always fun to watch her melt. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he took her in once more. Hey, no problem with some agreeable feminine company, giving her ample chest another quick glance. But there was something else about her. Something in those eyes…

"So how about I pick you up outside the front door at eight?" Leaning over her desk, Spike could _feel_ her temperature rise.

"Um, but the office doesn't close until nine Mr. Spiegel." Veronica looked as if she wanted to crawl under her desk and cry with both terror and joy.

At that moment the door behind her opened and Howards strode out with his purplish nose high in the air.

Spike caught the coin one last time and looked back at her over his shoulder.

"Eight o'clock," he called to her, and disappeared through the door.

Veronica waited a full respectable five minutes before clutching her phone to her ear and shouting down to the first number on her speed dial,

"My horoscope was right!"

* * *

Samuel Lampard surveyed his potential employee over his clasped hands.

_Potential_. The word aggravated him. There was absolutely no reason why Spike shouldn't work for him. Well, _with _him.

Samuel had been around long enough to know that a guy of Spike Spiegel's reputation would never under any circumstances work under anyone's command but his own. If he hadn't worked under the most feared syndicate the solar system had ever seen, he sure as hell wasn't going to start now.

Samuel had been a member of the Red Dragons too. Important, you might say. He'd had his own share in the running of the place, but was generic enough a 'bad guy' to escape notice. Particularly the wrong kind of notice. There was some merit in looking like a chartered accountant after all. The main reason any girl had ever given him for a refusal was his store bought haircut, rangy stature and square black rimmed glasses. A guy like Samuel could've been really wary of a guy like Spike, jealous even. But Samuel Lampard was a tad too smart for that. You build empires on the back of Spike Speigels. And enough money would supply all the 'charm' that he'd ever need.

But this empire wasn't getting built. Not while Spike was standing on the periphery anyway.

Perhaps some slight reverse psychology. Nothing too overt, that never worked in a situation like this. Just some minor prodding.

Frowning at the man opposite him (who was staring at a map on the right hand wall of the office, blatantly ignoring the person he'd been called in to see) Samuel decided on the best way to start off the conversation.

"You really didn't need to blow the place up Spike."

Spike remained fixed on the map before him. Dragging a cigarette from a ragged looking red packet, he managed to mutter out the side of his mouth, "Sorry, Sam but when a guy hands me a pretty big bag of explosives-" here he paused to light up, "-I tend to use them to the best of their advantage."

With a flick of his wrist Spike extinguished the match he'd just used and threw it on the floor beside him. He removed his cigarette but his mouth remained in its lopsided state of paralysis. Why did today have to be so damn funny? If there was one thing Spike wasn't good at, it was holding in laughter. And the idea that Sam thought having the same conversation for the thirty second time would yield a different result was just too much.

But still, he managed to keep his laughter hidden behind several facial contortions and his voice remained even. The meeting just had better not last too long.

His frown still in place, Samuel continued. "Diego Martinez was severely injured when he was brought into our custody-"

"-He was alive, that's all you gave me to work on."

Samuel's frown gained real gravity. "I don't appreciate your attitude Spike, it's not productive and the Collective needs to be productive."

Spike continued to examine his quickly diminishing cigarette. None of this mattered.

Spike hadn't agreed to anything other than a couple of quick jobs. He wasn't involved with this pathetic organisation or its idiotic civil war. Organised crime wasn't his game, not anymore. And the best part about it was, Spike thought smiling to himself, the dynamic Mr. Lampard knew that just as well as he did.

Samuel saw Spike's quiet arrogance and felt the familiar defeat.

How do blackmail a man that has nothing?

_You don't_

The answer was written across his counterpart's self-assured face.

"Alright." Sam sighed, sliding a brown paper file across the desk.

"Here's your next guy, might be tricky, he's a 'retired' assassin for Benfimo's people. The group has disbanded but there's word that the elders are still giving orders that he's carrying out. Could be tricky so you'll be working with Fischer on this one."

Crushing his spent cigarette underfoot Spike looked Samuel straight in the eye and shook his head.

No partners. That had been the agreement.

Samuel shrugged his shoulders.

"You don't work with Fischer, you don't get paid."

Spike took a breath, ready to twist Samuel's proverbial arm, but suddenly thought the better of it. This job might be worth something, and it could be fun to catch someone that could put up a fight for a change.

But all this partner stuff just didn't sit right with him.

_Fischer. With all the stuff that he's supposed to be into…Could be interesting._


End file.
